


over and out

by rotrograde



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, POV Keith (Voltron), Unhappy Ending, all killer no filler, there's a million of these post season 8 fics about this thing but i wanted my 2 cents in on it, we are all found dead in empty space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-11 00:50:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17436710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrograde/pseuds/rotrograde
Summary: Keith wasn't surprised when he heard the news.





	over and out

Keith wasn't surprised when he heard the news. 

In fact, he kind of expected it. He'd been gone for a long, long while in Earth time. About a year, when he last checked his calendar conversions. He did his best to check in when he could, on Earth's first holidays empire-free. But he was busy, and he was living a life entirely different from those of the others. 

With Allura gone, the adhesive to their banded group dissolved. Shiro and Keith, who had once been so close, so tender, were galaxies apart in understanding one another. Lance receded, both into himself and his quiet life. He didn't want to be overly bothered, if it could be helped. He'd had his snapshot at a better life shortened to milliseconds, then nothing at all. Keith couldn't blame him, honestly. 

Pidge was young. So was Hunk. Despite everything, they were the ones who were still themselves before the dust had been kicked and after it settled. They still resonated on the same frequency, and they were often found together. It made Keith happy. 

Seeing his team, his once-upon-a-time friends still relatively hale and happy, made him happy. They were home finally, regarded as individuals instead of a whole. They were called by their names, instead of one unanimous front, one rally, one cry. They were able to put back together the pieces of a broken life that had been shattered before it had even begun. They had managed to take back what should have been gone. 

Honestly, none of that had ever really bothered Keith. He'd found a purpose in it all, and he still did. So did the others; it just came differently to them than himself. So he was happy for them. He really was. 

But as all things went, and as all things happened, he still felt the way he did. 

Sick to his stomach, whenever he saw Shiro and Curtis in the same room. They were polite enough to not force their PDA on everyone else, but it was still obvious they had a thing for each other. A newly lit flame, spurring every tender touch, every soft and lingering glance. They brushed against each other when they talked, and they kissed when they thought no one was looking. 

Unfortunately for Keith, that's all he ever did. He was always looking at Shiro like he looked at the moon: full of longing, the need to understand, the _need_ to be there instead of here. How Shiro didn't realize he'd become Keith's only focal point, his purpose, was beyond Keith. But Keith was never good at using his words, and in the end, he supposed it was his fault the rift between them had grown into a chasm. 

He was happy for them. 

But why, why, did he feel the way he did? He'd had his time to get over it. Shiro and he had been distant ever since their fight, ever since he'd come back from the dead. He claimed to remember his time as the clone, and he acted regretful and sincere when they touched the subject of attempted murder. 

That was all they ever did, though. Touch subjects. Dance an elaborate tango around discussions that required slicing at the flesh and forcing out the rotting entrails. Keith had been willing, as he always had been, to spill his guts to Shiro and just _tell him_ how he felt, what it all meant, why it had happened. How they could move forward, not as a team, or brothers, or friends. But as something more. 

Keith learned falling in love came in the same cliches he'd abhorred in all the literature he'd read. He never fed into the quiet understanding, the falling for the other when the subject of one's fancy wasn't looking or hadn't noticed. Keith didn't like turning the subject into a code for both parties to find the key to and translate, one errant emotion at a time. Keith was a blunt person, and he'd wanted to be the same way as he'd always been with Shiro, but even he...even he had changed. 

Keith had to admit two years away from him was healing. It hurt like hell, to an agonizing emotional pain that split the core to be away from Shiro, to not know what was happening to him. Shiro was all he could think about, all he wanted, all he needed. Shiro had been a part of him, and missing a part of him hurt about as much as one would expect. 

But time was a salve that eventually gelled over his wounds, and it made things easier. Keith thought it made him easier. 

Pipe dreams. 

Everything took its turn for the worse, and somehow, Keith had ended up here, back pressed to the sharp bark of the tree he was leaning against. It was Shiro's wedding day turned night, the moon casting a silvered chiffon veil over the land. Ornate golden lanterns illuminated a designated spot for the after party in the nearby park, and a drink was in every hand and a smile on every face. Music Keith hadn't heard in so long played from some distant speaker. 

With his own drink in hand, Keith watched Shiro from afar. He was the center of everyone's attention, dressed in dazzling diamond white. Pure as an angel, and just as downy as her feathers. Keith felt his gaze soften, forgetting for a moment that this was happening. He let the world fall away and darken at the edges as he simply watched Shiro, laughing, at ease, his smile never once leaving his face. He'd been so tired, so exhausted. All he ever wanted to do since he'd gotten back was leave this war and live his own quiet life. Keith could get that. 

Even among the promises laid bare between them, only to be put to trial and found guilty. Every promise of flying together, riding together, to be out _in the stars,_ together. To always at least be there for each other. They were made when Adam was still a thing, almost guiltily, but they had been made all the same. 

They'd been reflected upon in the Castle of Lions together. Hesitantly, then strongly. Then with a passionate roar of flame that was snuffed all too soon. They simply didn't have time for each other, no matter how hard Keith had tried. No matter how far he had gone. 

The world came back to him and the noise hit his eardrums in a deafening roar. Shiro had slipped from his immediate vision, and the rush of visceral _self-hatred_ settled on Keith as quickly as the initial disgust did. The hand that held his own glass trembled, knuckles a threatening white around the crystalline object. He nursed the idea of breaking it. He cradled close the thought of snapping for once, again, against the others. To spit words like fire that burned and eventually cut deep. He wanted to say things he actually meant and be rid of it all. 

Keith couldn't get it. 

Keith remembered Shiro, _his_ Shiro, before the clone. His admittedly messed up, scarred, irreversibly traumatized Shiro. Someone who had been through literal hell and back, only to turn around and promise Keith again they'd do everything they wanted to, together. 

Because they _had_ loved each other, back then. 

The memory blocked Keith's throat and he gasped around it, fighting the heaving his midsection wanted to give into. His eyes burned with hot tears he could barely hold back, his vision blurred. He kicked himself inwardly, turning away from the party. He'd promised himself he would have a better grip on things because he was _happy for them._

He leaned against the tree, arms wrapped tight around his middle and eyes squeezed shut. He pushed every intrusive image of Shiro's young, sweet, smiling face from his mind. That was in the past and this was now, and this was a now he couldn't change. This was a reality he was forced to deal with. This was something he couldn't bend the universe for. With death in one hand and under the belt, this trumped it all. Keith couldn't change this. No matter how much he wanted to, it wouldn't ever be right in the end. 

Just as he sucked in his final, steadying breath, there was a sudden pressure on his shoulder. 

An all too warm and familiar feeling. A hand too tender to be anyone else's. 

“Are you all right, Keith?” Shiro asked, genuine concern in his sparkling, diamond eyes. He really did look so beautiful. Just as he deserved to. 

“I am,” Keith quickly huffed, knocking his glass back. It gave him the excuse to swallow the bile in his throat back down to his stomach. He could deal with it better there. “I'm just...I was just thinking of taking off soon. I was going to find you actually, but you...” 

“Found you instead? Shiro laughed, a laugh that was quiet and reserved. This was attention only meant for Keith and him alone, and it was attention Keith didn't want. It was something every instinct screamed at him to run from, to save himself. 

But distantly, he couldn't help but wonder, _run from what?_

“You did,” he continued, carefully. He cleared his clogged throat and managed a quiet laugh, his mauve eyes sliding to the side of Shiro's face, to the sky. He caught a brief glimpse of scattered stars like speckled paint, and he wanted nothing more than to find a quiet spot to look at them longer in. 

But Shiro was in his personal space, his expression having gone gentle. Condescending, almost. Like he was being told he reached sixty and he actually believed it. Keith wanted to scream. 

“You've been kinda quiet all night,” Shiro said, his shoulders squared and awkward. “If, um, I did anything to upset you, you know you can talk to me... I know it's been a while, but you still can. And you know we'd all love to see you for a bit, if you can stick around.” 

Shiro's audacity kept Keith's words at bay. “No,” he said, slowly. He looked away from Shiro, an effort to mask his...his what? His wounded pride? The insult he felt, displayed like a painting on his face? 

“No,” he said again, stepping away. “I've been fine. I'm just tired. I'm not used to being back on Earth time.” 

“Ah, yeah. That uh...that does it to you.” Shiro shifted his weight, his own eyes having finally fallen to the ground. Keith didn't bother to follow them to their destination. 

“How's it been?” Shiro asked suddenly, snapping his attention back to Keith after their moment's peace had passed. Thrown off, Keith just blinked. 

“It's been fine,” he said, stumped. “In my last status report I put everything I really had to say about the missions—” 

“Not that.” Shiro sighed awkwardly, a hand at his nape. “I meant,” he said, his cheeks reddening, “how _is_ it up there? Post war. Being able to be out there to just...to just enjoy it. When you can.” 

He looked to Keith, forcing eye contact. The gears in Keith's head slowly turned, one by one, until they all clicked into place. 

The promises from their past he'd been reflecting on all came to the front of his mind, and this time, he couldn't help the wounded furrow to his brow, the wrinkle of loathing to his nose.

“Excuse me, what?”

Shiro, visibly surprised at the bite in Keith's tone, stepped back. “We can talk about it later,” he tried to say, to cover his ass. But Keith was already biting at it, following him with squared, trembling shoulders. 

“Talk about what, Shiro?” he asked, his voice calm and steady. Even he was surprised at the lack of a tremble, the missing shuddering upper lip that signaled crushed embarrassment. Keith managed to stave it all away for the moment as he stepped into Shiro's personal space, a finger thrust hard into the silken fabric of his hidden button-down. 

“Please, tell me. What there is to talk about, Shiro? I really want to know.” 

Keith could see Shiro's eyes searching his, the confusion washing over his face. “I, I don't know,” he stammered, leaning away. “I just thought that maybe it'd be nice to catch up and share a few stories...” 

“A few stories?” Keith felt bad for the incredulous laugh, but he had to let it out. It sounded as corny as Shiro's words did. 

“There's no stories, Shiro,” he continued. He bit the volume of his voice in half, his anger finally reaching the momentum to make it shake. “There haven't been any stories in a long, long time. Quite frankly, I don't even know what I'm doing here, aside from making you look good. An event for the ages, Captain Takashi Shirogane, marrying his fiancé of three whole months. The paladins of Voltron at his side, to show their ever-undying support.

“You just...you...” 

Keith lost his momentum. He stepped away, annoyed at himself for even getting into this position in the first place. 

“I'm just going to go,” he said, raising his hands to knock Shiro's encroaching ones away. He continued to walk backwards over the blue-tinted grass, to the black horizon. 

“I wish you well, Shiro. I really do.” Keith called out the words with a crack in his throat, and he finally turned away. Away from Shiro, away from the lights, the dancing, Curtis in the background, walking up the hill they'd been standing on. Keith walked away from Shiro's words calling out to him, trying to bring him back before they were blown away in the wind. 

Keith didn't care anymore. He walked away from it all, refusing to look back. If he did, he knew he'd just return with his tail between his legs. His own wayward curse would finally consume him, trapping him there, doomed forever to just be a distant satellite to Shiro. 

So instead, he was happy for him. For Curtis. For everyone. 

He really, really was happy for them.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm a thousand years too late on this, but eh. 
> 
> if you enjoyed(?) it though, kudos are always appreciated. ♥ and you can find me mostly at my [tumblr.](https://rottedflowerpits.tumblr.com/)


End file.
